


The truth is a terrible thing

by officialusa



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialusa/pseuds/officialusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a thin line between love, hate, and casual sex, though there's a big difference between the three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The morning after

Sex. 

That was all it was.

Or at least that was what Ianto kept telling himself. The Welshman let out a heavy sigh, pulling the duvet up to his chin. Owen's flat was freezing, especially in the winter, as he had recently discovered. Though suprisingly, he couldn't complain about the decor, aside from the mans obvious love for dark colours. Almost everything was black or navy blue, designed to impress, like a true bachelor pad. It was almost entertaining to think on the thousands of men and women who had found themselves unwittingly in the same situation, only they had found the sense to leave before they got too attached.

He let out a soft sigh, looking over at the other's sleeping form. He was almost touched with the desire to run his hand through Owen's hair. He smiled, easing himself out of bed, and reaching for his clothes. It seemed a shame to leave without saying goodbye, though he doubted the bastard would miss him too much. 

It really was a strange situation. It wasn't quite a relationship, though it was far from casual sex, or even a friends with benefits type status. He supposed he shouldn't complain; Owen was nice enough in the bedroom, and even seemed to enjoy it, though in the hub, it was a different story. They still fought just as much, even more in Jacks absence. Gwen spent the majority of her time attending to the delicate task of dealing with any enquiries from UNIT, whom were still in the dark about the captain going awol. It was best that way.

Probably. 

Reaching for his keys, Ianto allowed his eyes to wander, leaning against the doorframe, just wondering. What would it be like for the other to wake up next to him? What would he say? What would it be like to take their relationship that little bit further? 

Nice sentiment, though Ianto doubted it would work out. They were polar opposites, much like he and Jack had been. It worked on the same level. Neither man could find an emotional connection with him. He had begun to think he had must have some kind of special skill when it came to sex. How else could he find an explanation for all this? 

Humming softly to himself, he closed the heavy set, oak door behind him, listening for the familiar click it made. He managed to make it down the drive without looking back.

There was a first time for everything. 

The gravel crunched under his feet, and the sting of the cold, November air forced him to pull his jacket further around his frame, trying to conserve at least a little of his body heat. He could have sworn he felt icicles starting to form on his chin. Cardiff was always cold around this time in the year. He remembered his mother complaining about it many a time. Rhiannon had often brought up her desire to move to an exotic country from September to February. Right now it seemed like a good idea.


	2. Coffee and fighting talk

Well. Wasn't that just fine and dandy. Teaboy had upped a left once again, without so much as a word or warning. He didn't care, obviously. Jones could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Probably included wanking over some vivid fantasy of being screwed by Jack fucking Harkness.

He could never quite shakd the feeling that he wasn't good enough. He was just a rebound. Something for the teaboy to fall back on when Jack fucked him over. The idea didn't bother him, of course. He was just looking out for a colleague. What was it Tosh always said? Considerate. He was just being considerate, keeping Ianto's best interests in mind.

Stupid welsh twat.

Owen thought bitterly, briefly regarding the kettle as he searched through his almost empty kitchen cupboards with a sigh. They'd used up all the food he had left making scrambled eggs the night before, after he'd burnt the first lot. He'd never claimed he was good at cooking. That was why he relied mostly on the chinese take away place around the corner, though in all honesty he had serious doubts about whether they were in possession of any kind of hygiene certificates. 

That was part of what he liked about Ianto. Though he refused to admit it, he liked being looked after, having the man run around making coffee, giving him that little smile. There was a kind of reassuring normalcy about it which he found solace in after a lonely night, or even a hard day of work. He knew the teaboy would be there at the end of it all.

They had begun to rely upon each other as crutches since the incident with Jack. They both used the other to console their loss, Owen of a father figure, Ianto of a lover. It was a hard thing to balance, but somehow, they managed to work through it all. He couldn't have cared less about Tosh or Gwen, who they were fucking, what shirt Tosh was wearing, even who was floating in and out of the hub, or hanging around the tourist centre. He had found himself pulling back even further than usual, confiding in Ianto during those long, cold nights when all they would do was talk and sleep in each other's company.

Yawning, he trudged back into the bedroom, pulling on the first pair of trousers he found, eyes landing on the welshmans underwear. Clearly someone had been in a hurry. He raised an eyebrow, reaching for his shirt, trying to stop a smile spreading across his features. He supposed he'd have to take them in to him.

There were few pictures dotted around the place, one would realise as thry made their way through his flat. It had barely changed in the three years he had lived here, thete were even a few boxes still stacked in one corner. He had never bothered to unpack. He didn't see the point. He lived here alone, and it was rare he ever brought anyone here after a night out. It felt like less of a home than his parents house, which was something in itself. 

Perhaps he had a reason to do so now. 

He spared a moment to wonder if some of the cooking equipment might come in handy. He could impress Ianto, try to cook him something half decent.

He shook his head, pulling his jacket on over his shoulders.

It seemed that old age was making him go soppy. Owen Harper, cooking? Almost seemed like a paradox of some kind,


End file.
